Mother Knows Best
by OnceUponATime14
Summary: It's 1987 and Walburga Black is left a widower. She looks around the ruin that has become her family and decides on a bold course of action: freeing her son from Azkaban, and raising halfblood Harry Potter as Heir to the House of Black.


Walburga Black entered the first drawing room of Black House London, and took a seat. The silence was stifling, oppressive. Her husband was dead. He broke the first promise that he ever made to her – that they would return to the stars together. Around her, Grimmauld Place breathed. The old house was sinister in its master's absence. She had yet to perform the ritual to bind it to her. Seemingly against her will, she turned to look at the tapestry. The burn mark under her name mocked her loudly now.

There are many things a child can say to wound a parent. And Sirius had learned all of his barbs from her. It would have hurt less had he run to blood traitors. It would have hurt less had he taken up with that Knockturn ally trollop. Seemingly, he knew these things would hurt less so he ran off to the Potter's instead. To her great aunt all had given up as barren. _"You see mother, Black blood is fine. As long as it's not yours."_ No one could say Sirius didn't know how to twist the knife.

She had been a blind fool. She hadn't been listening when Charlus Potter subtlety remarked his regrets about not "cutting that rot off at the root" when she extolled the Dark Lord's latest campaigns. She was sure that it was senility talking. Riddled with Dragon Pox and on this side of the veil by the Mother's dubious mercy, Charlus had been more lucid than her. She hadn't been listening when her son was screaming that she was sending Regulus to his death. He was proven right in that, she surmised. For all his scoffing of divination. No she hadn't listened. Unfortunately, Orion only listened to her.

The silence in the drawing room was unbearable. He should be here now, at the piano, his fingers ghosting over the keys teasing a half remembered song. He should be.

She barely even notices as she flees up the steps to a room that's been frozen in time. She looks at the scantily clad muggle models and smirks. Only a teenager who assumes that his parents are celibate would have found those girls provocative. But now she seeks a cardboard box on the bed. One that she accepted from the aurors with a sneer and disregarded for it's sheer ordinariness. That your elder son's entire life can be packed up in one box is sad enough without prying. But now she will pry. Because Sirius was always more _his_ than _hers_ and Sirius is as close as she can get to _him._

She ignores the clothing and goes straight for the effects. She picks up a charmed mirror warily and set's it down before it can sprout teeth or something more offensive. She picks up a locket with the McKinnon girl's photo inside places it on top of the mirror. Finally, she hits gold on a piece of parchment.

 _Dear Sirius,_

 _Thank you for Harry's birthday present. You'd think he'd been born on a broom. James says he's got the look of a Seeker, but then James would. We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who dotes on Harry. Wormy dropped by late in the day, but seemed down and didn't stay long._

 _James is frustrated being shut up here, but Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so he doesn't have much choice. By the way, Bathilda tells the most amazing stories about our old headmaster. I don't know how much to believe. Can it really be true that Dumbledore_ _was friends with Gellert Grindlewald? James accepts it as Gospel of course, but I think they're both barmy._

 _Lily Potter._

There's a photo attached. James Potter with the boy and the woman. The man has a Blacks face under that unruly mane of black hair and a lions eyes. Salazar's eyes, she recalls. The boy is unremarkable save that the only thing the girl has managed to pass on is her eye color. Deep emerald green. And the girl. She is nice enough. Patrician features, red hair so dark it might pass for black, and luminous skin. A pity she was a mudblood. She turns her attention back to the boy. "The Boy Who Lived", "The Slayer of Voldemort". She snorts at the titles, each more ridiculous than the last. Only an old power could've held that man at bay. If he even was a man in the end.

But the boy. At first glance, she feels a ridiculous thrill of happiness that Dorea's grandchild has been snatched away just as her aunt willingly snatched up Sirius. She crushes it. Dorea is dead and just that's just another reminder that her house is dying. But the boy? The boy is her blood as diluted as it is. And who would she be if she let her blood languish unclaimed? Especially someone with so much potential. Harry Potter was a shooting star, he would raise the House of Black with him. She looks around the room that has frozen in time and decides on two objectives for tomorrow. The first is to make an honest effort to free her son from Azkaban. The second is to figure out where on earth Dumbledore stowed her nephew away.

 **II**

Walburga returns to her senses the next day. She doesn't know anything about the Potter boy. She doesn't even know if his parents were properly married. A halfblood could pass with coaching, but a bastard? If they had failed to say the true vows, then her plan was moot. She may as well have snatched a mudblood out of the cradle if that was the case. Unfortunately the list of people who might know was limited at best. And the list of people whom Walburga had the faintest connection with began and ended with her son. Ah well, today was not a day for facile things.

"Kreacher", she called.

Her faithful elf popped into existence. "Mistress called" he said hopefully.

"Yes, mistress called" she replied.

"Kreature, I need you to pack a basket for Master Black and deliver it to him. Include any potions he might need to restore him to lucidity and the simplest of foods."

"But Mistress," the elf was uncertain his eyes darting to his mother on her wall.

"Yes, Kreature?" She said. Her words were honey. Her smile was poison.

"Master Black is dead" The elf cowers before her. Sure that this is his last day on earth.

"Master Sirius Black Kreature"

The elf recoils in shock. Really he should be more skilled at hiding surprise after a lifetime with her. But what could you expect from such simple creatures?

"Yes Mistress." The elf says finally. He turns to leave. "Kreature?"

The elf turns back, likely hoping for a reprieve from his orders.

"Mistress?"

"You may pack a basket for Madam Lestrange as well. But you are not to speak to her. Nor take any orders."

The elf turns back, considerably happier with his task now. Bella, her beautiful dangerous niece. Ruined for love.

That task completed she turned to the second task of the day, meeting with the Black family solicitor.

Turning from the foyer, she checked her appearance in the mirror. Black robes only, as befitted mourning. The color made her look half in the grave herself but there was nothing for it. As an afterthought she added a necklace of polished raven feathers and the barest touch of rouge to her cheeks. That's all. Her face still holds the beauty that makes the Blacks infamous, though sometime over the years her mouth turned down into a permanent scowl.

She shook her head at the woman in the mirror and turned to pinch off some floo powder, reappearing in the grim stone hallway of "Arkham&Arkham" wizarding solicitors. There was no sign on the front door advertising for clients. Benjamin Arkham's client list was invitation only, comprising only the Crème de la Crème of wizarding society and as such he had no need to spend on such lavish frills as decoration in the hopes of attracting potential clients who had managed to scare up a few spare galleons. Instead every galleon spent went towards working for his clients, using any means necessary to win a case.

She turned the corner and stepped into the outer office. There were two utilitarian wooden chairs but Walburga chose to stand, her heels clicking against the stone floor. After a moment the door to the inner office opened and a thin, reedy voice called "come in".

Benjamin Arkham sat hunched over a stack of parchments, squinting in the low light through wire rimmed glasses that had slipped down the bridge of his nose. Tufts of white hair stood up here and there, resisting any efforts of grooming charms.

At first he appeared not to notice her but then "Condolences on your loss Madam, your husband will be much missed" Walburga proffered her hand and he affected a dry kiss on her knuckles. His lips were strangely cold. She refrained from a snort. She doubted that Orion would be missed anywhere save beside her and that decrepit barman.

"I believe that there were no recent changes to the will, but if you would like to review it I can call an elf" He started.

She held up a hand. "That will not be necessary. I trust that all is in order, my visit today concerns the heir."

Mr. Arkham shuffled the papers on his desk, no doubt seeking the Black line of entailment. Walburga could have directed his search, but she was waiting to see if there were any unpleasant surprises that needed to be handled.

He straightened the parchment and squinted down at the last line. He rubbed his eyes and squinted once more. Then paling, he turned to address her, "Madam, as Mr. Sirius Black is indisposed, per this document the next in line for entailment is – he paused as if to gauge her temper.

"Yes?" Walburga asked frostily.

"Madam there must be some mistake."

"Say the name Benjamin, I will be the judge if there is a mistake" she ordered.

"Mr. Harry Potter, Madam" He choked. He glanced up at her. He expected swearing, curses, shrieking, Perhaps all three. Instead his client was sitting as smugly as the cat who nipped the cream.

"No mistake Benjamin." She said smiling. Here was her proof, the house of Black would have never claimed a bastard boy blood or not. "But my visit today concern's Mr. Potter's Godfather, my son Sirius Black"

"Sirius? Madam, I believe when we last broached this subject you agreed that pressing for a trial was too dangerous. I believe your words were, "better alive in Hades, than dead in Elysium"

Walburga pursed her lips. "I recall what I said six years ago Benjamin, I'm a widower not an Invalid. New information has come to light, I believe that Sirius may be innocent.

She produced a copy of Lily Potter's letter and passed it to him wordlessly. He glanced at it briefly before he said blandly, "This proves nothing"

Walburga scoffed. "You know very well that what it proves is immaterial. What it insinuates is far more valuable. If there's any sense at all in what old Bagshot was nattering about then this letter could ruin Albus Dumbledore forever"

Benjamin chuckled, and smiled the smile of a man weary of the same argument. "Ah now we get to the crux of the matter; I had wondered about your sudden fit of maternal instincts, I thought perhaps you may have been confounded. Now I see its just the same old thing."

He clasped her hands as if to placate her. "The world has changed Walburga. The old guard will never again be revered for merely existing, you must _contribute_ to the world you live in if you wish to influence it and not stir resentment"

Walburga smiled evilly at him and snatched her hands back. "That's all well and good, now let me tell you something. What do I care if the rabble and peasants resent me? They always have. The world turns on the word of those that have power, not those that resent them."

"And you wish to take over Dumbledore's mantle, is that it?" Benjamin snorted.

Walburga shook her head. "I have no desire for office, no lust for title. I simply wish to see my family's good name restored and upheld."

Benjamin smiled. "Spoken like a true politician. Very well Lady, I will pass along your whispers to listening ears, few though they may be. And I will make inquiries into securing Lord presumptive Black a trial. But you should not expect it to come quickly."

Walburga nodded. "Quick bright things come to confusion. Do not be hasty Benjamin. But you should at least be able to secure access to the Auror reports on the Potter murders, and what evidence, if any they claim to have against my son."

Bejamin nodded. "I'll go back over my original file. I believe they said the reports were "mislaid". It's doubtful they existed at all. Those who believe that Cornelius Fudge will be the least competent Minister of Magic have a short memory. As for evidence, Ms. Pettigrew neglected to claim her late sons meagar remains so those could be tested for evidence."

Walburga nodded. "Very good, I don't need the details," I will need to see Sirius of course, to see if he has any information that could aid in his defense."

Benjamin paused. "Better let me do that my lady; if he were to say anything incriminating then you could be forced to give testimony against him."

Walburga laughed. "I could be forced to sit in the chair yes, but there is no spell or potion that can force a Black to turn against their blood, have no fear Benjamin. Owl me a report of your progress in a week. Good day."

She turned to head towards the floo. Part one of her plan was complete. Now to find the boy…

Walburga returned home to a light dinner of roasted squab and grains with a salad of mixed greens.

It struck her as she sipped on a sweet white wine that finding the boy wouldn't be the difficult part. House elves could find any wizard living and her Kreature was one of the best. The issue would be retrieving the boy while turning the public opinion in her favor. There was a veritable flood of adoption request for the Boy Who Lived, all were listed as "pending" as the boy grew up Merlin knows where. So she couldn't go through the WPO. She had to get to the boy directly, had to gain his trust before she ever approached his guardians. She was sure the boy was stowed away with one of those simpleton fools that Sirius had so believed in protecting. They would never deny the boy who lived anything.

But how? Normally in situations like this Walburga would open her purse until she bought the affections of the person she needed to further her goals. But this was a child of six. Children held very little of the concept of gold. By the time the boy was old enough to be bribed he would be in control of his family fortune and out of her reach.


End file.
